


The Typewriter

by snarkysweetness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkysweetness/pseuds/snarkysweetness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma visits Marco to discuss Henry and Pongo, but the conversation turns to August when his typewriter triggers her heart: a missing scene from ‘The Outsider’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Typewriter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a missing scene from ‘The Outsider’. I’m so annoyed they didn’t mention August, but at least Emma and Marco had a ‘chat’ which means they HAD to have talked about August.

Emma stood at the door, with her hands in her pockets. She shouldn’t here but couldn’t stand to see her kid in pain. Nothing she or her parents said or did seemed to be getting through to him. Henry had lost too many people that he loved: August, Archie, and Regina, all within a matter of weeks. The poor kid was going to lose it soon. She had to do something and fast.

“Your Majesty, how can I-“

“Just, Emma, please, Marco.”

“Of course, come, come.” The old man stepped to the side to allow her in. She stepped inside and gave him a small smile. “I was just making tea. Would you like a cup?”

“Not unless you’ve got something stronger than tea in there.”

“Whiskey?”

She smiled. She knew she liked him for a reason.

“Please.”

He ushered her into his small kitchen where she took a seat at the breakfast bar. She did her best to avoid Marco when she could. Being around him made her feel guilty and sad and she had enough guilt to deal with when it concerned her kid; she didn’t need more of it. But Henry loved him, so she’d seen plenty of Marco since Archie’s death. Not that she minded, of course. And Henry was the reason why she was here, after all.

“I’ve been thinking; Henry’s been,” she hesitated, unsure of how to go on, “Archie’s death on top of everything,” she sighed. She wasn’t very articulate, was she? “He’s not dealing well with any of this very well. But I noticed that when he’s with Pongo they both seem-“

“Happier?”

“Yes. Thank you,” she replied as he slid a mug across the counter. She took it in her hands and allowed the warmth to spread through her fingers before taking a small sip. Oh yes, this was what exactly what she needed.

“I’ve been thinking about it as well. Archie, he would want your boy to have Pongo, but you’re loft-“

“Is tiny, I know. Which is why I was thinking, maybe Henry could bring Pongo over to run around in the backyard sometimes.” And so Marco could spend some time with him, which Henry would like too.

The old man was too choked up with emotion so he just nodded. Emma looked down into her mug, wanting to give him a moment. She reached down to Pongo, whose head was resting on her knee. She scratched him behind the ear and her eyes scanned the kitchen, taking in the beautiful Tuscan décor. She turned to look at Marco again but whipped her head around as soon as her mind registered an item loitering atop the dining room table.

Without meaning to, her body in complete control, she pushed off of her stool and glided across the room towards the box. She trailed her fingers over the worn leather and a small sob escaped her chest. Marco took a sharp intake of breath but she ignored him. She put both hands on the latch and popped the box open. Inside lay August’s typewriter, with a page still inside.

She reverently removed the sheet and let out another sob when she realized it was a half-typed letter to her. She smiled; August had the worst handwriting.

_Emma,_

_By now I’m gone, just like I said I’d be. I just hope that since my death you’ve discovered the truth about the curse and your role in it. I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you believe sooner. You deserved to know the truth all along, but I was too cowardly to protect you the way I was supposed to and for that I will never forgive myself._

_You may think md nothing more than a liar but believe me when I say I never lied about my feelings for you. I have, since the moment I saw you on the street, and will until my dying breath, lov_

And that was where the letter ended.

She pulled it against her chest and began silently sobbing. Marco placed a hand on her shoulder and she leaned into his chest and allowed herself to cry. Poor Marco; he’d lost his son and his best friend, the last thing he needed was a weeping woman falling apart in his kitchen.

Yet, she couldn’t stop and compose herself long enough to get back to her car; she didn’t know which was worse, thinking August had been dead all of that time she’d spent in their land or coming home to discover he was missing. Was he still alive? Or had someone done something with his body?

Not knowing was the worst. She’d rather be able to lay him to rest like they had Archie then spend the rest of her life wondering if her best friend and the man she had come to love was out there somewhere.

She pulled away from Marco and wiped her eyes while shaking her head. This was not the time or place for a meltdown.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I am glad my boy has someone who loves him enough to miss him. We’ll find him,” he insisted, taking her hands. She nodded, not wanting to extinguish his hope. He had a kind, gentle spirit, like Henry’s, and she couldn’t bear to be the one to tell him that August was probably still dead, just moved. The thought made her skin crawl and once she dealt with Henry’s nightmares and Regina, she’d make sure that whoever had taken him would pay.

“I should get back to Henry.”

“Of course. And you should…” He motioned to the typewriter and Emma wiped a few loose tears away while shaking her head.

“No, you keep it. My place is so small; Pongo would probably just knock it over. But…” She shifted uncomfortably, debating her request, but decided after a long moment that it was worth asking. “Do you have his jacket?”

Marco smiled and patted her cheek.

“Of course.”

He sent her away with the jacket and Pongo. She waited until he’d disappeared from the doorway before pulling the cool leather jacket against her chest. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of his aftershave. She closed her eyes as she tried to memorize the scent and soon her body began convulsing as she burst into tears once more. Pongo leaned his head on her thigh and she pulled the big dog against her and hugged him as she let out everything that she’d been working so hard to keep bottled in.

“I’m sorry, August,” she whispered as she released the dog and attempted to compose herself. Once she was sure her eyes weren’t too puffy looking, she carefully slipped the letter into August’s pocket for safekeeping.

Right now, she needed to focus on her kid, but very soon she was going to make sure that August was put to rest. Until then, she’d at least have his old leather jacket to comfort her grieving mind.


End file.
